


Last to Fall.

by Yoari_Dank



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Conflict between soul and spirit, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Maka still distrusts Spirit, Ocassional Drama, Romance, SoMa - Freeform, Some Humor, Soul x Maka - Freeform, Spirit doesn’t like Soul, Translation, possible ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoari_Dank/pseuds/Yoari_Dank
Summary: Soul doesn't believe in the astrological garbage that the morning paper says, but the stars seem to be in position when the mysterious girl in the park smiles at him from a distance. Everything looks perfect in Maka except for one small detail: Spirit Albarn. Sworn enemy of Soul. Soul must adapt to Spirit's foul play to be with Maka or die in the attempt.
Relationships: Maka Albarn & Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn & Spirit Albarn | Death Scythe, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans, Spirit Albarn | Death Scythe & Soul Eater Evans
Kudos: 4





	Last to Fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Soul Eater doesn´t belong to me is owned by Ohkubo Atsushi, I just borrow the characters for the purpose of the story.   
> This is an adaptation of a movie and an old fanfic of mine, it takes place in an alternate universe and will focus mostly on Soul and Spirit, although of course it´s a SoMa fic.

Soul contemplates the prominent rays of the sun on the silhouettes of the buildings surrounding his small apartment, refusing to believe that insomnia has completely consumed his night. The last few hours have not been the most productive and ` _frustration_ ´ is a concept close to his lack of sleep.

He sniffs the aroma of roasted coffee beans floating in the air and he brings the cup to his lips sipping just a cold drop of his morning coffee.

He discards the cup on the old wooden desk and the young man’s peculiar eyes meet the epitome of his unhappiness. Taking a brief look at the only object that occupies a significant place within that narrow department, he decides that even at this point in his life the battered piano he rescued before being discarded still looks sinister and even intimidating. What seemed unimportant before… now it´s losing that quality.

The question about his reasons for keeping it jumps and invades his mind. However, Soul feels bold to face his old enemy one last time.

The palms of his hands strike the opaque keys of the piano with fury; perform a torrid melody of failure and frustration. Soul scrutinizes with mistrust the worn out scores that mock him, the same ones that challenge him with impudence to be played by his avid hands and in his defect, by the hands of a consecrated pianist; something that he definitely is not. The inability to interpret a simple melody predisposes a crude reality.

_This really sucks._

It costs him every ounce of consideration not to take the fragile yellowish leaves and throw them out the nearest window. He can taste the loneliness and frustration as he used to in every practice his parents forced him to do; an endless cycle to fill empty and pretentious expectations of the society they lived in.

Being born with golden spoon in your mouth does not guarantee happiness, apparently, at least not for someone like him.

Soul pushes away the score and abandons the idea of throwing it out the window, the satisfaction of feeling free at least for a moment inside his little cage of frustration settles in his being.

His hands return to the piano and tempted by the feeling of gratification, he strikes the first key with barely contained violence; the reverberant sound of the shock is magnificent and exciting. He strikes again with enthusiasm, recovering the life that was extinguished when his fingers moved mechanically to the rhythm of an orthodox and almost generic melody. Now they are moving at the mercy of his soul… his own melody of liberation and yearning.

A dark and melancholic melody of a soul imprisoned in the confines of its own heart.

It ends as soon it begins.

The dissonant sound of his head hitting the piano keys accompanies the rapid gasps that die in the silence of the dawn and is the perfect end to his repertoire. Soul closes his eyes, allowing himself to drift away from the intransigent thoughts that reproach the constant sense of incompetence.

Why is he not able to play the melodies that his ancestors played with innate ability? Is he not an Evans and the man and woman he calls ` _father_ ´ and ` _Mother_ ´ simply welcomed him into the bosom of their prestigious family?

Perhaps this is the most logical response.

“Brother… that was sinister.”

Soul refuses to lift his head and look at the intruder in the room; he knows whose the annoying voice is. The first impulse is question the presence of the intruder in his apartment early that morning, the second is omit that formalism and ask him to leave so that Soul can at least rejoice in his own misery in peace.

Turning his head, soul realizes that it is too late and that it would be a total waste of time. The unwanted visitor is sitting at the old desk drinking from the coffee which Soul took great pains to brew ten minutes ago, Evans fears for the stability of the object.

  
“Black Star, that is my coffee, get you own.” Soul says without a hint of sarcasm, frowning at the subject´s daring.  
  
Blake or _Black Star_ , as he calls himself, emits an annoying sound when he sips harder from the cup. His untidy blue hair matches the only garment he wears over him; soul identifies it as a worn-out bathrobe that leaves little to the imagination for anyone unfortunate enough to look at such facades.

“Your God has run out of food and I found this in your kitchen, I will return it to you when Sid does the Shopping.”

Soul turns his eyes at his old friend´s words, he has heard the same excuse from Blake hundred times when he takes his stuff; the presence of Black Star poking around his apartment is already a constant he can´t deal with words. He feels a little sorry for Sid, the man who practically raised that walking disaster who claims to be a God, however, he also recognizes that part of the blame for Blake´s bad habit lies directly with him.

Ignoring any other excuse, Soul rips out the piano scores and stands up in the direction of the kitchen. On the way, he hides the battered leaves in one of the many boxes that plague the apartment and make it impossible to pass from one room to another.

Inspiration is gone thanks to his friend´s meddling.

“Black Star I gave you the copy of the key to my apartment for emergencies.”Soul passes by Blake who quickly descends from the fragile desk.

The strange young man follows Soul into the kitchen, listening to the little complains that come from his friend´s mouth. Black Star alleges that has been left out of food for the week because he´s been overeating during workouts and exercise is a real emergency.

“That melody was good, I don´t understand why you stopped.”Blake fills his coffee cup without looking directly at Soul.”Did you at least write it on a napkin? Brother, you have great future composing horror movie soundtracks.”

A grunt escapes Soul´s throat but despite his annoyance at his friend´s words, he decides to be vague about it.

“Blake, I´m late. Drink that coffee and then leave, unless you want to have some breakfast and revise all while I´m gone.” Sarcasm springs up in every word.

The young man in the bathrobe nods again and again, taking the commentary at face value as he begins to rummage through the cupboards for something to accompany that coffee.

With a tired sigh, Soul puts his things in a small backpack that hangs carelessly on his shoulder and then rushes out the apartment. On the way down to the parking lot where his motorcycle is waiting, he prays that his supplies won´t run out in Black Star´s stomach; it´s hard to earn a little money for sustenance and for the man who rents him the place.

But Soul promised himself not to depend on his family, his father even made that point very clear to him when days after he walked out the front door claiming total independence from the family name, he cut off the credit cards funds.

Sporadic part-time jobs on different days of the week are Soul´s current livelihood, but at least he finds comfort in knowing that is better than having to live under strict rules in a home where he feels he doesn´t belong and with people who expect much more than he can give.

* * *

Death City wasn´t even Soul´s first choice, but after seven years he has learned to appreciate the small City located in the middle of the desert and practically miles away from his old home.

The heat of the street slaps his face mercilessly as he walks the endless blocks down to one of the parks closes to the location of his first client of the day. His walk is stiff as a soldier and his gaze is on the front as he leads two huge dogs whom impatiently pull on the leashes he holds tightly in both hands.

A strange feeling touches his stomach but he insists on believe that it is simply the liters of coffee that he drank in the morning and from the night before.

Walking dogs in the park seems like a good option to keep them satisfied and exercised. Thirty minutes later Soul finds himself sitting comfortably on one of the benches that borders the place, anticipating his time of relaxation he brings along a copy of the local newspaper, he turns the pages without paying real attention to the news and images contained in the paper and the only objective in mind is the classified section at the end.

Just before reaching the page, something catches his attention, a section of the newspaper that Soul considers a waste or print: horoscopes; only someone who is not in his right mind could believe the lies predicted by some guy with a lot of cocaine in his body.

Skepticism hovers over him and he looks disdainfully at the string of mediocre lies promised on that simple piece of paper.

“Don’t try hard to find what you need, you’ll have it soon.”

Soul frowned considering it was the most absurd thing he had ever read, something so vague it could not be taken seriously.

The sound of bark captures his attention urging his to put aside the newspaper and look where one of the dogs is, he notice the anxiety in the animal and the direction in which it barks again and again.

Soul notices someone and is astonished the sight of a small girl running a couple of meters away where the asphalt forms a road that borders the park, a blonde woman wrapped in an exercise suit that fits perfectly and leave her beautiful and feminine figure visible.

Admit that she is beautiful.

Unable to take his eyes off her, the girl notices his presence when her trots bring her closer and closer to Soul and that´s when he notices it, his eyes have a beautiful greenish hue that is impossible for him to ignore.

Then the unexpected happens when she looks back at him and smiles at him.

The surprise grips Soul but he does not react internally, instead he makes a movement with his head as if saying a simple _“what´s up?”_ and immediately he feels so stupid before such action. He sinks more into shame when he turns several times to both sides to corroborate that the smile was directed at him, and although it is indeed so - _apparently_ -, the feeling of insecurity stills squeezes Soul´s insides and stirs something there.

And the brief connection is broken when the mysterious girl moves away from him, getting lost in the distance, but without erasing that beautiful smile from his face. 

It´s weird, Soul thinks right away. But he rules out any crazy idea in his mind and plays down the issue by calling it a strange coincidence, and also rules out any possibility of meeting the pretty girl again. 

* * *

Another half hour later Soul decides that´s enough, he returns to downtown to bring the dogs back and pick up his beloved motorcycle from his client's home. His next job starts at noon and he notices on his cell phone that it's ten o'clock in the morning, the just enough time to get home and get cleaned up.

He also is assistant at a small clinic located a couple of blocks from the rental place so he leaves his motorcycle in the garage of the complex. One block south he stops at a coffee shop for another order of coffee, this time he want something cold to soothe the midday heat. 

The place is in the middle of the block with a couple of little tables outside and a line of people waiting for their order in the narrow interior, Soul enters and takes his place behind a woman in her forties. Look beyond the diverse clientele by recognizing the employee on duty, Lizbeth Thompson or simply "Liz" as she preferred to be called; as much as Soul or Black*Star, Liz was also trying to make a life for herself in that city by taking all kinds of jobs to subsist with her younger sister Patty.

The line advances and Soul flows with the other people, eager him to get their order and leave for the next job on their list. However before arriving where Liz takes the orders and charges, he hears one of the customers complaining in an audible and angry voice assuring that there is something wrong with his drink and that he has received a bad service.

 ** _"You don't even know how to make coffee"_** **_"this wasn't my order" "I'm not coming back to this place"_** are some of the things that the guy yells out while looking in his wallet for the total amount of his order, paying reluctantly after Liz sends him a bad look. After, the man leaves slamming the door of the place.

 _He's a complete asshole_. Soul thinks from his position. 

Two customers later and it's his turn, Soul walks over to the checkout and doesn't have time to order anything when Liz has his usual order ready; he's about to pay when he notices something on the floor next to his foot. A lonely Dollar that lies forgotten. He bends down to take it and puts it in the tip jar assuming it must belong to the idiot dissatisfied with the service, he doesn't believe in spiritual crap but just this once he can call it "karma".

He walks up to the door with his order after saying goodbye to Liz and as distracted as he is by all the things he has to do upon arrival, he bumps into someone who is about to enter the premises. The coffee splashes in all directions bathing them both mercilessly, Soul releases a couple of curses and look at the cause of their misfortune but remain silent when he realizes who is in front of him.

“Look where you're going.” The girl can´t ignore the disaster when the initial shock has almost completely faded.

He doesn't know what to do. Respond or leave her there? He wants to bury his head in the ground to hide his shame.

“I'll pay for the dry cleaning.”He answers not knowing what else to say and trying not to let his voice be heards shaky or very faint.

Now what? He think when feels panic. 

Soul scratches the back of his neck and without knowing what else to do or say, he sneaks out of the place in a hurry. That's definitely not cool at all.

She tries to say something else but it's too late, he's gone.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:   
> This is an attempt at translation. English is not my language, an apology for the grammatical errors in the chapter.


End file.
